


In Loving Memory

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Ward mention, canon compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7343491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can I help you, dear?”</p><p>Fitz blinked uncertainly. Daisy shuffled, ready to step in, but then he spoke.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said. “I- um. I’m looking for Evelyn Fitz?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Loving Memory

 

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-

“You alright?”

Daisy glanced down to where Fitz was clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

“What? Yeah.” He’d been staring intently at the door for some time now, but when he glanced at Daisy, she saw tears in his eyes.

“What’s up?”

Fitz shook his head.

“Nothing,” he breathed. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t seen her in so long. She hasn’t seen me like this. She hasn’t seen me since…before. What if it’s too different? What if I forget?”

“How to speak?” Daisy checked. “You won’t. You’ve worked so hard, and you’ve got through worse than this. You’ve talked to Ward. Your mum can’t be scarier than him.”

“Scary in a good way,” Fitz clarified.

“Okay, well…you prepositioned Simmons! That’s scary in a good way, right?”

Fitz blushed, and laughed uncertainly.

“That didn’t…that didn’t take much, uh, convincing.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows and snorted with laughter.

“I’m going to tell her you said that,” she vowed. “Now, hurry up and knock.”

“Right.”

Returning his attention to the door, Daisy saw the fear flicker through his eyes again.

“You won’t forget,” she promised. “I’m right here. I’ll help if you get stuck.”

Fitz nodded, swallowed, and knocked.

And waited.

And waited.

And with bated breath, he watched the door open – and his face fell. An elderly lady, with a crooked back and snow-white hair and a blue cardigan with yellow flowers shuffled into the doorway, and looked Fitz up and down, peering through her glasses to study his face.

“Can I help you, dear?”

Fitz blinked uncertainly. Daisy shuffled, ready to step in, but then he spoke.

“Sorry,” he said. “I- um. I’m looking for Evelyn Fitz?”

“Oh, dear…” The stranger shook her head, and shuffled back inside. She left the door open, but Fitz hovered in the doorway.

“It’s important!” he called after her. “It’s really important that I find her.”

“She’s not going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

The old lady shuffled back to them, with a Post-It note in her hand. Fitz looked down at the address, and frowned. Tears filled his eyes, and he took a deep breath as if holding in the air would hold in the water as well. He stared at the card, the words and their implications sinking in undeniably.

“How did you know her?” the old woman asked gently. Seeing that he was too overwhelmed to reply, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, love,” she murmured softly. She watched him for a few more seconds, but when no questions were forthcoming, she quietly returned inside and shut the door.

“Fitz?” Daisy wondered, stepping in to check on him. “What’s going on?”

“The address,” Fitz breathed, showing it to her. “It’s Mum’s church.”

_-_

 

_Evelyn Maired Fitz_

_1967 – 2015_

 

Fitz stared, reading the words over and over. She was not a spy; there was no secret meaning to be found. She was not well known; there was no reason anyone in particular would have killed her, or saved her. She was loved enough to have been found, and buried, and perhaps Fitz should have been grateful for that, but with a pit in his stomach and tears starting to burn his face, gratitude was difficult to come by.

“How did she die?” Fitz murmured. There was of course, nobody around to answer. He should have asked before. “How did I miss it?”

Daisy hovered at the back of the church’s small cemetery. In lieu of pacing, crunching snow, she flipped the phone over and over in her hands. She was itching to be up there with him, by his side, but how could she be? She had no idea what he was feeling. She’d never had a family to love as much as he loved her. The only solace she could offer him was that she knew what it felt like to be an orphan – and in general, that feeling sucked, so there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm in her to share it.

She looked down at the phone. At least she had some good news.

Quietly, but not hiding herself, Daisy approached Fitz. She stood in the corner of his line of sight, until he responded to her presence.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “We should go.”

“No, it’s okay,” Daisy assured him. “I called the others. They’re on their way.”

Fitz nodded - at first in acknowledgement, and then in an attempt to reassure and gather himself. He exhaled, tearfully, and shook his head.

“I just can’t believe it, you know?” he explained. “My mum, she was so…wonderful, she was amazing, she was so…kind, and so strong… I remember thinking, when I grew up I wanted to be just like her. But smarter.”

He laughed, and the tears started flowing again.

“Ah, she got on my nerves sometimes,” he continued, “but she always meant well. She always tried. She always…”

He shook his head, and kicked at the ground. Daisy nodded for him to continue.  Although she couldn’t relate, she had no concept of always, she could still be a set of ears for him. Someone to hear his mother’s story, or whatever parts of it he could get out between gasping for breath and choking on tears.

“…and she used to take me to work, sometimes – it was safer than leaving me in the house – and she found me one day, behind the oven, and she said ‘now Leopold,’” – in a higher voice, with a  stronger accent, he mimicked her – “’Mrs Abernathy’s wondering why her pies aren’t baking, shall I tell her that you broke it, or that you’ll fix it?’ I was seven. She thought I was a right genius. Showed me off whenever she could. I got her into trouble sometimes, but she never let me feel it. She never let me down, not once, not…”

His eyes drifted back to the headstone.

“Fitz-“ Daisy tried to interrupt whatever realisation was crossing his mind, but too late.

“I let her down. I did. I was running around the world chasing a _rock_ and I didn’t _once_ think to come visit her…”

“You were chasing _Simmons,”_ Daisy reminded him. “And you did think about it, and you decided that you –“

“That I couldn’t _waste_ the time?” Fitz prodded, through clenched teeth.

“- That Jemma might have died if you took a second to _eat_ let alone socialise,” Daisy reminded him, “and that you might have endangered your mother by seeing her. Ward knew her already, you didn’t want to take any risks.”

“Do you think that’s why she’s dead?” Fitz asked. “Do you think Ward killed her?”

Daisy shook her head.

“I think she died in a perfectly innocent way. Probably not a nice way – I can’t really think of a nice way to die alone – but not a horrible way. Look. She had a funeral, and she has a headstone that’s been kept nice, and clean. She had people looking out for her.”

Fitz scoffed, and kicked the ground again.

“People who couldn’t even think of something to say, on their very nice tombstone,” he pointed out bitterly.

“They put her name,” Daisy insisted. “Take it from someone who’s had a few: that’s not nothing.”

Fitz met her eyes then, and she looked steadily back. Seeing and feeling his grief, tears were starting to shine in her own eyes. She opened her arms a little, and he stepped into them with a tight and thorough hug, to drown out the anger and the loneliness. Daisy hugged him back, just as tightly, and thought of her own parents, who had died – or would do, one day – without their names, without remembrance. With only her, to stay behind, and to be just like them in all their best ways, and better in all the ways they lacked, like every child was supposed to be.

Daisy sniffed, and wiped her face, as she stepped back from the embrace.

“Did I ever end up telling you about Afterlife?” she offered. Fitz frowned, confused.

“The Inhuman place,” Daisy explained. “Where I stayed when I was away. That’s where I met my mum.”

Fitz shook his head, and invited Daisy to sit. Nestled between the headstones, Daisy started to recount stories of the beautiful, mysterious Afterlife, and of Gordon and Raina and Jiaying and Lincoln – all gone now, to the world, but not to them.


End file.
